Zazen, and the next level, with meditation

Sometimes you don't need many words to say something, and sometimes you do; this is somewhere in between...

ZAZEN

The next step in my evolution came a snapping at my heels to tell me it was all me, and before I could turn around, it began to wrestle me to the ground and turn me any which way it could.

I braved those winds for as long as I could until I couldn’t dance anymore, and then I went for a swim and a walk on the beach alone.

When I came back I was cured of all the old stuff, and so turned into a mushroom reaching for the clouds.

There are times you may ask: when will the end come, and after staring at your hands for a bit you may find a sign that it might not be that far away, or there again you may find nothing and grin.

Some people call this Zazen, and some call it bloody sad; all the others live it and don’t call it anything.

Mushrooms of course, don’t fart, and there is the clue to the next level.

THE NEXT LEVEL

I found myself holding my breath and waiting for things to change, somewhere that was cold as love gone away, like an old memory screaming from the grave.

This was a bitter truth that had me unfolding and on my knees and eating my tears that could never fulfil me, but eat them I would, if that is what it would take to enhance my powers of perception.

I had to get away from this in my heart though.

So I sold everything and travelled all over the world, until I ended up where I was and playing a saxophone into the wild wind of forever, that found me one night attempting to solve the next level of how to get the fuck out of here.

Suddenly, I remembered my whistle, and so took it out and blew it to hell and gone, until it wore all out and disappeared back to where it came from.

I was glued, and blowing like a windsock, and thinking, wherever the hell I was, I was going to take this to the next level or die trying.

As I ran along with this and wondering would there be anyone I could pass the baton onto, it was time for a smoke-break and to see the dentist or something.

So I gathered up all my cards and did a little hat dance for a bob or two, but gave it up when the moon whizzed by at 2288 miles per hour, overhead, and had me to wondering about constants and things, in the cold where the definition of madness caused me to swing a sword that narrowly missed the crowd come to watch.

Do you mind, said one, to my left.

After an hour of poking the sword around, an old cave man appeared from out of the shadows and dust and began to rave.

This had me worried for a moment until the beat got me to dancing.

It was here that I got to the next level.

There are some that say this is impossible, and mostly I just have to agree with them until they go away.

Looking around then in my thoughts, I thought there was more to say.

It was around here that I heard a scream coming from outside and blowing bubbles for all she was worth.

So I popped my head out of the window and took in the air and spied down on her looking up.

Hello, she said.

Hello, I said.

MEDITATION

And then I thought: it’s only so many pages to the end of the next thought, so why should I care if it rains all day?

My thoughts wandered around for a while on this until they settled down and I could go inside and meditate.

There are many that say there is nothing there, and so give up and return to the grave of constant circles.

Others just bang on the door until they are let in to find there is no door and that their concepts are the same both sides of it.

For me, I find that when the mind settles down, a silence can be perceived, and that this is the gateway to going inside.

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